


Letters from Combat

by raunchycole



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Army, Car Accidents, Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Love Letters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-13 01:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18021971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchycole/pseuds/raunchycole
Summary: Jughead Jones; an ex-army cadet who returned home to his native town of Riverdale, five years after enrolling in the army to serve his country. While halfway overseas, he found comfort in pouring his emotions and twisting them into words in the form of letters, all addressed to a certain blonde Betty Cooper, whom he fell for at just 14 years old, long before the Cadets captured him overseas. All addressed anonymously and sent to the Riverdale Register, Betty Cooper was unnerved by the anonymous lover who was pouring his heart out onto paper, from so far away. Would he return and confess it was in fact him, Jughead Jones who had written the letters, or would other troubles and burdens snag at him, sending him backwards before he gets a chance?





	1. 'Dear Betty'

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first published work on here and hope you all enjoy it. Please leave any feedback and comments you wish once you have read, I really appreciate it as it is my first work and I would be interested in any feedback and improvements to better myself.  
> Thank you :') I will try and upload once a week at least, maybe more, possibly less.

October 3rd, 2017

_‘Dear Betty, Today is day 1095 of becoming an Army Cadet, and day 3050 of being in love with you. The weather has been dull and dark the last couple of days, making the journey through war tough and harder to cope with. However today, the sun is breaking it’s way through the grey clouds, pushing to the surface. God must have a hunch that today is the day I'm making contact with you again, as nice weather ceases to appear in Iraq these days. However my heart is always warm and bright like the weather is today whenever I think of you. I hope you’re well love and I’_

Jughead’s scrawly scripted writing jolted to a halt as the pen slipped from his grip, rolling across the floor. The bunker tent he was sat in shook and quivered around him, the echoing ring of bullets filling his eardrums with dread. He quickly shoved the letter into his back pocket and hastily attached the bullet proof vest to his chest, strapping it into place quickly as another shock echoed from very close by. Jughead was the only one from his rank who was in the tent, the rest had met up with the Corporal to discuss tomorrow’s schedule. He poked his head out of the tent tentatively and felt bile rise up into his throat. Chaos was among them, soldiers dashing from pillar to post, shooting in every direction as different ranks rose as one, shooting to opposition with such force and vigour that he could barely see through all the smoke and dust filling his lungs. He frantically searched for Archie, suddenly having to dive behind the base building, coughing and spluttering as the smoke intoxicated him. He reached for the rifle strapped to his back, leaning down onto his stomach and beginning to shoot, peering through the lense to target those who had somehow invaded the ranks, how he had no idea. One successful shot, then another. Jughead wasn’t in any way biased but he knew he had a successful shot behind him, not missing a target in the last three years he’s been an Army Cadet.

Blinking and getting his wits about him he noticed a familiar red head sprawled beside one of the bunkers, a puddle of blood pooling beneath his body. He choked out a cry as he fled towards his best friend, tears filling his eyes to the point where his sight was becoming blurred.

“Arch, stay with me man, don’t you dare leave me!”

Jughead choked, frantically touching Archie’s face everywhere with shaky hands, his eyes glazed and distant. He rose his hands to apply pressure to the chest wound, trying to block out the intense fear that rippled through him, the realisation that Archie was in a bad way.

“Help, somebody please help me!”

He searched around with his eyes, the shots intensifying around him. Jughead knew he was in grave danger in the position he was in but he couldn’t bear leaving Archie, not without attempting to save his life. He felt for a pulse, feeling a weak beating against his finger.

“Thank god, Archie stay with me, stay with me please,” He blabbed, his words tangling in his tongue as he turned Archie’s head very slightly to face him, the distant look in his eyes ceasing a little as he made contact with Jughead’s gaze.

“Jug, Jug..” He breathed out, the look in his eyes turning soft and full of sadness. He knew his time was up, he knew he didn’t have much longer and the desperate ache in his chest was telling him to tell Jughead to tell Betty the truth about his love, no matter what happened.

“Arch don’t talk, hang on for me, I’ll get help!” Jughead spluttered, sitting up on his knees and making the rash decision to find help, before Archie managed to choke out.

“No, it’s too late Jug, it’s too late.” He whispered, pain rippling through him. Jughead felt his stomach twist into knots, the rage turning to bile in his throat. Archie reached his hand over to touch Jughead’s forearm, the skin already coated in his best friend’s blood. Tears pooled both pairs of eyes as they looked at each-other, the chaos around them seeming to stop and fade into white noise, all that was evident was two best friends about to be parted in the worst circumstances imaginable. Jughead couldn’t bear the thought of Archie trying to say goodbye.

“You need to promise me something,” He breathed, his face contorting in pain as the blood continued to ooze from the large bullet wound in his chest, Jughead’s hands still applying firm pressure.

“Anything man, anything.”

“You need to tell Betty, for me, you need to tell her how you really feel, before it’s too...” His eyes rapidly blinked in succession and then stopped before his gaze became still and vacant. He had to tell Betty, he had to tell Betty it was her who wrote the letters. That he loved her, he’d always love her, she was the only one he’d ever loved. Jughead fell to the floor, his head landing inches from Archie’s departed body, his heart departing with him.

* * *

 

November 24 th , 2019

Present Day.

Suited in his cadet uniform, Jughead scanned the busy Airport lobby, his eyes darting this way and that in search of his father, his  dishevelled appearance barely hard to miss. His gaze landed on many different walks of life, fellow army cadets falling into their arms of their vacant lovers, their young children at bay, sweeping them up into their safe embrace. Couples and families returning from sun kissed vacations, businessmen and women  ladened in their suits and formal attire, returning home from a  work related business trip. And there was Jughead, alone and distant, feeling ever departed from the world around him. He pushed through the people, making his way to the exit, just wanting to leave. He felt queasy and overwhelmed, the amount of people around him making him light headed and distorting his inhibitions. Army life made you feel that way, the amount of people causing severe anxiety and panic, certain situations proving a trigger.

Once outside Jughead reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, hastily lighting one and breathing in the fresh air and the nicotine, blowing the smoke out slowly. Smoking was a nasty habit, but a habit that kept his mind sane. He  haled down a taxi, directing it towards Riverdale, the home  town he hadn’t been to for almost 8 years. Sitting in the back he watched the airport building disappear behind him, becoming a blur. He exhaled, nervous about returning to the town he’d not walked in for such a long time. Seeing people again he hadn’t seen in a long time. His father for one, the father that  was  barely reliable enough to hold his head up from the toilet bowl after a heavy night in the bar, never mind meeting him from the airport after being away for eight fucking years, he thought, taking a sharp intake of breath before steadying his train of thought. He shouldn’t have expected so much from him, he tried to think, his leg rising up and down in an attempt to calm the anxiety that was absorbing him. He thought back to Betty. Dear Betty, the blonde slip of a girl he’d fallen for when he was barely a boy himself. They weren’t close, hell, Jughead was certain she didn’t even know he existed. Although every day through war and every night as his head hit the pillow in his bunker, Betty entered his mind. The young female, blonde and slight, intoxicated his mind when his was young, his first craving for a girl he’d felt through adolescence. She was barely 16 when he left, making her 24 now. Christ, Jughead thought, really suddenly craving a cigarette, she’d be even more radiant now. He had a rash thought and suddenly grasped for his satchel, checking his journals were still intact. He sighed, content that they were still there and hadn’t been left in the hold of the plane. Jughead poured his soul and emotions into journals, the only thing apart from Betty keeping him sane for the six long years he was serving his country.  The journal was paired with  writing Betty letters; letters that Jughead wrote anonymously, where he poured his soul, emotion and feelings for her onto paper, mailing them to her mother’s Register Office where he timelessly hoped she’d receive them, even if she hadn’t the slightest idea who had sent them. It gave him comfort, sending the letters. Comfort that he could express the way that he felt, until he could return and tell her in person.

Jughead’s thoughts returned to Archie, the pained ache returning to his chest. Jughead was a recluse in school, barely muttered two words to anyone, besides Archie. Archie was one of the few people who actually gave a damn about how he felt and one person who reached out to him, their parents being close back then which inevitably brought them together in an odd sort of way. They weren’t similar, in any sort. Jughead, the name for a start singling him out from most, had a beanie permanently bunched on his curly mop of hair, barely rising above his eyes. He walked with a hunch, avoiding eye contact, always wearing long sleeves to cover the map of bruises threatening to expose the horrors that tormented him at home at the hands of his own mother. Archie, the popular one, the captain of the junior football team noticed these one day however and since then, had made it his mission to befriend Jughead, support him and offer him that outlet to lean on. Jughead, reluctant at first, went along with it and since then they had  made a dysfunctional but budding relationship. 

Jughead pinched the bridge of his nose tersely, pushing the memories from his mind, the haunting memories of his best friend and the taunted and horrific way he  way taken from him. He missed him more than anything, and arriving back in Riverdale without him felt torturing and betraying somehow. Gazing out of the window, Riverdale slowly crept into sight ahead, the dusky sky let rain filter down onto the window to cloud his view. The taxi crept to a halt, Jughead handing the driver a note with a generous tip and bent out, slamming the door behind him. The car rolled away around the corner, leaving him stood in a blanket of dull cloud, looking around and wondering where to venture next. A little disorientated he headed west, deciding the first place he would face his demons would be his father’s trainer at Sunnyside.

 

 

 

 


	2. escaping tears

The clicking and punching of Betty’s old-fashioned bespoke typewriter was the only noise piercing the air, that and the occasional slurping of coffee made from both her and Veronica. Darkness was upon them now, captivating the sky and turning it dark and eerie, Betty finding comfort in writing at night, she found more inspiration then. Veronica glanced at the clock above her, glancing back at Betty still hastily typing away, lowering her glasses and peering at her.

“B, I'm heading home now, maybe you should too, it’s getting late and I don’t like the thought of you being here alone when it’s dark.”

“Who are you, my mother?’ Betty chuckled, lowering her coffee mug.

"I’m too absorbed in this. You go, get back to Reggie. I’ll be fine.” She smiled, carrying on typing. Veronica sighed, picking up her bag.

“Whatever you say but if you get broken into, don’t come crying to me for help!” She teased, blowing her a kiss and Betty heard the jingle of the bell above the door as she slammed it shut. She grinned to herself, beginning to type again, the words fluttering across the page in a flurry of text. She snapped her head up in confusion as she suddenly heard the chime of the bell again, Veronica quickly swiveling around and handing her a brown envelope.

“Before I forget, another of your Dear John letters arrived the other day, I forgot to mention it. Any idea who this mystery lover is yet?’ She teased, handing her the letter.

Betty sighed, reading the print on the front. Posted from Afganistan this time, this guy sure does get around.

“No clue.” She muttered, tearing open the seal, hearing the bell chime once again as silence absorbed the room.

Betty had been receiving these letters for five years, since she was 19 years old. Whoever the secret admirer was, she knew they’d known her for some time, and must have known her through school. If she could even call it an admirer, she thought, thinking it now went way past that. The words were submerged in love, the connotations going way beyond a school boy fondness. Betty didn’t know how to feel. A part of her felt attached, loved, wanted. Even though she hadn’t the faintest clue who was fawning over her like this, the thought made her feel a little uneasy.

_‘Dear Betty, I'm in Afganistan now. It’s tough out here at the moment. The two’s and throws of war are in full swing now and I would be lying if I wasn’t worried. The thought of you keeps me sane. Tomorrow we set out to the Capital, to protect the people and come up against the enemy. The Colognel wants me to lead my rank, but the fear and dread is rippling through me down to the pit of my stomach. Only two days until I’m home, two more days until I can reveal myself to you. I hope you like who I turn out to be. It’s been a long time coming my love, and I can’t wait to cup your flushed cheeks in my hands and kiss those delicate lips I can still remember as clear as day. Always, your love.’_

Betty could feel her throat closing in and salty tears building, threatening to spill over. This sweet human being had a beautiful way of words that made her heart lurch. She could feel herself slipping into love with him, even if she had never seen a face to match the words. The words he spoke and the passion he wrote them with was enough for him to have her heart. She was yearning to find out who the mystery male was, she thought. 2 days to wait.

* * *

Jughead trudged through the muddy earth, approaching the run-down trailer he had always associated with home. Nothing’s changed, he thought, climbing the creaky wooden steps and swinging open the door. Everywhere in Sunnyside trailer park was the same; deteriorating rickety trailers that have stood eerily for many years, the smallness serving a comfort for those who couldn’t afford luxury living. It was home for some, and home it was for him. The door creaked as he opened it ajar, creeping inside and dumping his suitcase down on the stained lino flooring. The smell that reached his nostrils was vacant and stagnant; almost unlived. He curled up his nose in curiosity and disgust, chucking his bundle of keys on the chair as he surveyed his surroundings. It seemed just as Jughead had left it; half empty ale bottles stacked on the coffee table, ceramic pots piled on the drainer that appeared almost mouldy, and clothes strewn over the chair that were unknown whether they were clean or well worn.

“Dad?”

He called out, checking the bedroom, where the bedding was unmade and rumpled, and the bathroom that was empty also. Not visibly or internally worried, half expecting his dad to be on one of his benders he went over to the window, creaking it open a touch and lighting up a cigarette, putting it to his lips and taking a thoughtful drag. He looked out of the window, noticing a group approaching his trailer. All donned in black jackets, he knew exactly who they were. He snuffed out his cigarette and dropped it in the sink, beating the group to it by opening the door to them before they’d managed to mount the steps.

“Well if it isn’t Jughead eh? Back already.”

An older man named Tallboy said, his beard cascading past his chin. Jughead raised his eyebrows questionably.

“And why exactly are you here?” He asked, kicking his boot cladded foot against the paving. Tallboy creaked his eyes shut slightly, raising his eyebrows as if not understanding how he couldn’t know why they were here. He took a leather jacket from another man and held it out towards Jughead, waiting for him to accept.

“Since the situation with your old man has come to light, we think it’s about time you had this. Welcome to the serpents, boy. We’re your family now.”

He still held the jacket out to Jughead, his piercing look gauging into him. He took the jacket, still confused.

“What do you mean, ‘situation’ with my dad? What's going on?” He asked, nausea beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. His leg began to shake, indicating a panic was due to happen. He tried to push the feeling away but it was stronger than he was. The men looked around at each other with slightly panicked expressions, waiting for Tallboy to answer. He sighed, his eyes closing slightly. He stepped slightly up to Jughead, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“No one has told you? Your dad passed a couple of days ago. I'm sorry, Jones. Overdose by the sounds of it.”

The unsensitive way he spoke the words shook him to the core. The earth felt like it had begun to shake under his feet, giving the impression that an earthquake was due to start. Jughead felt suddenly light headed, holding onto the wooden hand rail to steady himself. His jaw clenched, bile rising in his throat. The other hand rose to run his hand through his hair, his fingers tugging slightly so that it hurt a little, to try and slightly numb the pain that was searing through him. He went back into the trailer, slamming the door. When he was certain no one was going to follow him inside he slid down the wall, shaky quickening breaths turning into sobs as he put his head in his hands, resting his chin to his knees. He sobbed until he could feel his throat turning to sandpaper, hoarse and dry. He slowly stood up, approaching the coffee table where the half empty bottles of alcohol stood, begging to be drunk. He shakily picked up a bottle, hearing the liquid glug as he raised it to his lips, muttering ‘cheers’ as the rich ale washed into his liver. He drank and drank and drank for the next two hours, until he felt intoxicated enough to feel ever so slightly numbed from the heart wrenching pain fighting to take over him. Suddenly aching for a fag he grabbed his keys, lit a smoke and searched around, noticing his old motorcycle helmet sat on the chair. He grabbed it, fastened it under his chin and stalked out of the door, concentrating hard on not falling down the steps. He felt and heard the rumble of the engine rip into the stagnant air, the smell of the petrol gauging up his nose as he roared down the dirt-path towards the centre of Riverdale.

* * *

 

Betty was still in the same spot she was in two hours ago, a further 10 pages through her article. She could feel the tips of her fingers begin to feel numb and the joints beginning to ache as her fingers rippled across the typewriter, barely pausing for rest. She was determined to finish the article she was itching to complete, wanting to send it off that night so she wouldn’t worry about it when it was time for her to sleep later on. She let out a yawn, glancing at the clock and noting that it was almost midnight. Guilt seeping through her she raised the steaming coffee mug up to her lips, beginning to take a long, lustful sip. Just as she did so she could hear a faint, muffling rumble in the distance, making her ears prick in alert. She paused her fingers for the first time in a while, her hands frozen in mid-air, hovering above the typewriter. It was rare to hear traffic of this sort in Riverdale this late in the evening she thought, listening cautiously. The rumbling became louder and more intense until a blur of movement crossed in front of her face, the faint image of what appeared to be a motorcycle screeched to a halt, the graze of the rubber types grating against the tarmac, the metal body coming into collision with the lamp post directly outside her shop window. Betty released a screech out of pure panic and reaction, pushing her chair back and rushing towards the door. She felt her body shake and her legs turn to jelly as she witnessed the alarming scene in front of her. Luckily the motor cycle was still intact, if not badly damaged, the driver laid beside it, apparently conscious as he was grumbling and groaning, clutching his stomach in turmoil. Betty took a deep breath in, relieved the driver was conscious and seemingly not in critical condition. She knelt on her knees, careful not to kneel on any srapnel or glass, touching his back gently. Donned in a black ‘Southside Serpent’ jacket and black cycle helmet, she could barely make out his face as he was crumbled in a huddle. Black curls poked out innocently from the top of the helmet, blanketing his eyes. Betty tried to turn him, careful not to cause more damage.  

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’ve been in an accident and I’m going to get some help. Can you hear me?”

Betty spoke rushed, hoping desperately that the male would respond to her and his surroundings. He gently eased himself round, sitting up slowly and cautiously. Betty was surprised, leaning forward and helping support him.

“Hey, don’t make any sudden movements. We don’t know how serious your injuries are.” She said gently, touching his arm softly.

That was the moment she noticed his face. Dark haired, tan skinned, blazing green eyes as deep as sapphire. She made eye contact with him and couldn’t seem to break the gaze and apparently, neither could he. The breath fell short in Jughead’s throat as he struggled to break eye contact, feeling confused as to why he was sat on the floor in the middle of the road, in the dark, with a seemingly beautiful female comforting him.  

“Where am I?” He questioned, lifting his helmet off and touching his head cautiously, noticing blood dripping down his finger from his forehead.  

“You’ve had an accident, you fell off your bike. You’re okay though, I think.”  

She was very well spoken, elegant and soft natured. Jughead couldn’t stop his eyes roaming across her delicate features and her green eyes that matched his own. Betty fumbled to get her phone out of her pocket, dialling for an ambulance.  

“I think you’re okay apart from a little concussion and a few cuts and bruises, although I’ll ring an ambulance just to get you checked over.”

Betty was fretting slightly, fumbling with her phone, feeling a sudden overwhelming urge to protect this male in front of her, sensing his apparent vulnerability and his apparent memory loss, not letting Jughead know it was causing her concern. She touched his thigh gently, feeling sparks captivate her entire body. She blinked a few times, trying to regain control of her emotions. Jughead couldn’t peel his eyes away from her, finding her oddly familiar but couldn’t for the life of him think where from. He felt disorientated and confused, still unaware where he was or what the hell happened. He was craving for a fag, feeling in his pocket and whipping one out, fumbling for his lighter. 

 “Sorry, but I’m desperate for a smoke.” Betty just nodded, watching him light up and cup the end of the cigarette between his lips, letting it rest there for a few seconds before he released and sent a puff of smoke pooling from his mouth. More than anything he needed a smoke to calm his nerves, both from the shock from the accident and from being in very close proximity to a girl that was making him feel light headed and turned his insides soft.  

The ambulance came soon after that, the rest a blur as he got the all clear to return home, where Jughead was confused as to where home was for him. It was like his brain was all a misty fog, he felt himself panic as he couldn’t remember where he belonged and that worried him. He was sure he wasn’t that drunk to not know where he lived, and Betty could see his panic. She laid a hand on his shaky leg, his leg visibly stopping with her touch. He gripped his fingers tightly, as Betty answered for the paramedic.  

“He can stay with me until he remembers enough to tell me where he lives. If that okay with you...?” She stopped short, embarrassed turning to Jughead, realising she actually didn’t even know the name of the male she’d helped.  

“Jughead. I'd be grateful of that, thank you.” He spoke softly and earnestly, earning a smile from Betty as the paramedic nodded, satisfied, bundling into the ambulance and driving away. They had cleared the road, Jughead’s bike a write off, when Jughead stuffed his hands in his pockets and paced awkwardly. Betty shivered a little, looking at her watch. It was now 1am, and she was freezing and could see Jughead’s plump lips were lightly turning blue from the chill in the air. He had a blanket around him but it didn’t seem to be making much progress at keeping him warm. Betty locked up the Register and clicked the keys to her car, Jughead following in close succession.  

“Let’s get you warmed up.” She smiled softly, climbing into the car with Jughead sitting beside her, huddled in the blanket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 is here!! some exciting content in this one so hope you enjoy :')


	3. infused touch

Betty warmed up some coffee and left it to brew, sparking the open fire in her apartment. The fire roared to life the heat  emanating onto her bare feet that sank into the fur rug. Jughead was curled up on the cou c h  ajacent to the  chinmey breast, his legs tucked up under a blanket, one hand resting in his hair. He looked drowsy, the cuts drying on his forehead and deep purple bags forming under his emerald iris’. Betty handed him a warm cup of coffee, sitting beside him, close but not quite close enough for them to be touching. It was now 4 am and neither of them had slept. Jughead was still quite lucid and aware, the intoxication wearing off and the shock of the accident feeling like it was draining him. He still couldn’t remember why he was in Riverdale and what happened during the crash, although he was trying his upmost to turn back the clock and think carefully to retrace his steps. At times he was becoming increasingly frustrated, dragging a hand through his hair, his leg jiggling up and down in a mixture of stress and irritation. 

Jughead bit down on his lip deep in thought, as Betty cut into that abruptly, breaking him from his daze. 

“Aren’t you tired? I’ll leave you to it if you just want to sleep.” She said softly, willing him to turn his head so she could look into his eyes just once more. They captivated her, deep and pooling with  colour . He did turn slightly, his eyes red rimmed and puffy. 

“I’m tired but I wouldn’t be able to sleep.” He muttered, fumbling for a fag in his pocket. He whipped one out, the packet a little squashed and crumpled from being in his back pocket. 

“Am I alright to..?” He gestured to the window and Betty nodded as he gently stood, wincing slightly from the pain located in his ribs. He unlocked the window and stuck his head out  a little , lighting up and pressing the cigarette to his lips, letting the nicotine ease the pain and the thoughts  consuming  his mind. He felt a little guilty for smoking in her home even though the window was open but he knew he couldn’t curve his anxiety without a smoke, it was one thing that kept him sane and on the straight and narrow. He hunched over, the pain  quickening a little. Betty noticed and left the room, returning with some pain killers and a glass of water. 

“Here take these, they’ll help with the pain.” She opened his  balled up fist and placed the tablets inside, folding his hand into a fist again. Jughead smiled slightly, popping them quickly to the back of his throat and gulping down a mouthful of water.

“Thank you, Betty. For having me here. I know it’s probably a pain in the ass you could do without but-” He paused, dragging on his cigarette. 

“I really appreciate it since I have no idea where the fuck I belong.” He laughed drily, snubbing his cigarette out and throwing the butt out of the window. Betty noticed him wringing his hands nervously, and went back to sit on the couch, Jughead following. 

“You’re not a pain in the ass, Jughead.” She spoke softly, liking the way his name rolled effortlessly and seamlessly from her tongue. He curled his legs under the blanket, tucking them under himself. She noticed he hadn’t taken his beanie off yet, and wondered what sentimental value that had for him as he scrunched it further on his head, covering the majority of his raven curls that peeped out of the rim. She daren’t ask him yet, feeling it was a little bit of a sore subject. She felt everything related to him could be a sore subject, so she decided to tread carefully. 

“Hey, you don’t know me yet.” He spoke gruffly but Betty sensed a little bit of truth in his statement and she felt she  sh ould worry a little, although nothing of this human being caused her any worry in the world , more curiosity.

“I’m sure you don’t bite.” She joked back, leaning a little against him as he settled back on the settee, getting himself adjusted and comfortable, leaning his hands behind the back of his head. She noticed his muscles flex and she drew a terse breath, trying not to flush under the heat of the flames from the fire and from the sudden appearance of muscles on this male she didn’t know existed.

They ended up talking for hours, staying up way into the new day, just as dawn was breaking. Betty felt the cushions shake as he roused herself awake, feeling the  sofa dipping as she felt thrashing against her leg. She sat up quickly, still a little disorientated,  realising she’d slept beside Jughead on the couch all night. Betty peered and saw Jughead drenched in sweat, the light fabric of his t shirt clinging to his stomach, his hair a map of raven against the sweaty pool of his forehead, stray hairs clinging to the perspiration. He was thrashing and fighting with himself, his face contorted in a mixture of panic and anguish.

“No, don’t do it, don’t!” He yelped, his eyes creased up in visible pain. She wasn’t sure how to react but she went with her mothering gut instinct and caught his arms in mid swing, grasping them with her wrists and lowering them to his stomach, holding them there with all her strength until he ceased from thrashing. He relaxed and she reached a shaky hand to caress his forehead, brushing the damp curls from his forehead and touching his glazed skin, which was hot to touch. 

“Jug, it’s okay.” She soothed, noticing him clutch her free hand, digging his nails slightly  into  her skin. He gradually stilled and relaxed, his fingers laced through hers. She wouldn’t be lying if she said she was enjoying it, although he was deep in sleep and unaware of his own actions. She snuggled down beside him, her hand rubbing the small of his back as she drifted back to sleep, unaware if these nightmares of his were frequent or just the peak of stress  eminating out of him. She would soon find out the nightmares were more common than she first thought.

* * *

A few days turned into a few weeks, and Betty had begun to do some digging as to where Jughead’s origin was, where he had come from. She gathered he was from Riverdale and after further probing, the leather jacket he was donned  was a big giveaway, that he seemed to belong to the local gang, the Southside Serpents. Deemed to be trouble, she knew she should be wary of the male she was letting into her home and into her heart apparently, but she just couldn’t push away his gentle and caring nature, as well as  his troubled aura. 

“Why can’t I remember Betty?” He spoke gruffly after spending a couple of weeks in Betty’s apartment , looking at her with a mixture of irritation and pain. Betty sensed this and laid a hand on his leg in a mild offer of comfort, the touch immediately settling his jumping leg, allowing him to take a jagged breath in.

“We’ll figure this out Jug, I'll help you remember.” She cringed as the nickname slipped delicately from her lips, her voice full of emotion. She didn’t even  realise she’d said it until after it’d made her way from her mouth, outwardly cringing as she shuffled a little bit further from him down the couch, but he reached out his arm and pulled her gently back, a little belly laugh escaping from his parted lips. 

“I believe you, as you seem the type of girl who doesn’t break promises easily.” He smiled slightly, fingering her waist, as she relaxed her tense stance. 

“I definitely don’t,” She sighed, gripping her hands together in her lap. 

“Is there anything you do remember?” She spoke, not wanting to tread further than she should. He creased his brows together, them knotting together softly. He thought deeply, delving as far as he could into his subconscious. He rooted around in his thoughts, pulling odd things and that he remembered that weren’t relevant, and then pulled a memory out he couldn’t erase again. His breath caught in his throat as he stood, pacing the couch, running his veiny hands over his face in a distraught fashion. His dad. His dad had fucking  _ died.  _ He grabbed the nearest thing to him, that happened to be a pretty porcelain vase. Before he could think through his  actions he launched the vase, hearing it shatter against the wall. He paced, letting out a grumble as he could feel a panic setting in. His chest constricted and he could feel the walls closing in on him. He momentarily forgot Betty was there so as she crept behind  him he swung, almost catching her with his fist. Betty flinched but didn’t back off, annoying Jughead a little as  he  wanted to push her away and fight this battle alone, push her away like he’s done with other women in his life when he was frightened. Frightened that they were frightened of  _ him, _ frightened of how he could become. He backed up toward the wall, feeling a sting come to his eyes as the tears of anger and torment were threatening to spill. He slid down the wall, landing and bringing his knees up to his chest, snatching his gaze away from Betty who was slowly creeping closer, a little wary but not wary enough to stop her pulling herself away from helping a broken man in dire need of comfort and support.

 “Please Betty, back off.” He hissed, his teary gaze glared into her. Betty ignored him and crept further towards him, sliding herself down on her knees beside him. Jughead didn’t move but constricted slightly, gazing into space with a tear glazed expression. She felt brave enough to touch his raised thigh and he flinched slightly, his skin settling and relaxing under her touch. His guard was up, she knew it, but she felt he was softening slightly and she just wanted to know what was hurting him so much deep inside. They sat there in silence for several moments, the only things heard was the passing rumble of traffic outside and each of their heavy breathing in sync with the others. 

“I’m sorry, for throwing the vase.” He whispered, the room dark, the only light  eminating from a beautiful scented candle on the coffee table. 

“It’s only a stupid vase. I’m more worried about you.” 

She whispered back, her voice catching slightly. He sighed, moving a hand to scrape through his tousled hair. Jughead moved his hand from his leg to drape it behind her back, letting it snake past and settle on her hip. She shivered, the feeling of his warmth spreading onto her skin making her feel soft and secure. She felt like she should recoil from him, to shy away and be almost frightened, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t feel that way as all she could see was someone lost in a storm, fighting against the wind and rain to find the sunshine and warmth again, and she was determined to help him find it. She knew deep down there was a beautiful, compassionate and loving human being in there under the turmoil and anger, and she was determined to rise it up in him. 

“Don’t be, it’s one of my phases. It’ll pass.” He was letting himself open up a little, feeling able to trust her with little details as he could see she was harmless, she was innocent, she was kind, and she wouldn’t mess him around. She seemed like she just wanted to help and he felt so guilty for recoiling from her and pushing her away, but he found it so hard to open up to people and let them in, especially as letting them in was potentially dangerous, for him and for her.

She tilted her head, looking at him. His gaze was focused. To Betty, Jughead seemed a guy with a lot flooding his mind, and seemed almost troubled. She couldn’t quite work him out at present and he wasn’t up for revealing a lot, but she knew he needed consolation and support and that was what she would offer him, even if that was simply rubbing his leg when he got the sudden surge of anxiety.

“I remembered something.” He whispered, his voice catching at the end. Betty raised her gaze to catch his, noticing he was staring right at her. She raised her eyebrows, feeling brave enough to take his nearest hand into her own. 

“It’s about my dad.” He looked deeply saddened, his eyes looking lost and helpless. Betty laced her fingers through his, gripping him slightly. He drew a deep breath in, feeling his chest heave. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t feel ready.” She spoke softly, not breaking her gaze away from his that wasn’t breaking away from hers. He sighed, gripping her fingers tighter.

“I want to.” He mumbled, bracing himself. 

“I was coming back, from somewhere. I-I can’t remember where from,” He looked puzzled, massaging his temple with his free hand as if straining to link his thoughts together. 

“I went back to...my dad’s trailer. At Sunnyside.” He drew in a shaky breath, feeling his leg wanting to shake but as it began to Betty soothed it, laying a hand on the skin. 

“He wasn’t home and I figured he’d be on one of his benders. He is an alcoholic.  But, the Serpents told me he’d...” He choked, trying his upmost to hold the tears back, but they stung too much, slight droplets tipping over his lids and landing on his t-shirt. Betty let out a shaky breath, seeming to expect what was coming. She leant over and caught a tear as it was rolling down his hot cheek, smearing it away with her thumb. 

“He’d overdosed. And the worst fucking thing was, no one thought to tell me.” He slammed his fist on the floor, wincing as it was still sore from the accident. He curled up into himself, tucking his knees up higher to his chest and feeling Betty rubbing his back as he cried, tears effortlessly retreated to flow from his eyes and he could feel his chest heaving and tightening with every sob that racked his ribs. Betty whispered soothing words into his ear, just holding up as he sobbed. 

“Jug, I'm here for you. Even if nobody else is, I’ll be here for you. I’ll help you. I’m not going anywhere.”

 Betty could feel the tears penetrating in her own eyes and she tried to hold it in, for Jughead’s sake. She ignored her brain and went with her heart as she leant over, taking him into her arms, pulling him into her lap. He whimpered into his arm, trying to cover his blotchy face from her own. Betty fought with his wrist and lowered his arm,  peeking at his face. It looked sore, positively worn out, his eyes red rimmed and puffy, his lips quivering. His eyes latched onto her own and as his breath was catching, he tried to steady it and felt his breathing slow down to normal pace. He couldn’t bring his gaze away, he felt like time had stood still. He hurt, everything hurt, physical and emotional pain wracked his body but looking into her eyes seem ed to considerably numb it all. Betty felt her breath quicken, her chest tightening as she felt her gaze seeping into his eyes, wanting to break away in fear of awkwardness but then she saw he wasn’t looking away either. Jughead felt an overwhelming urge to compress his swollen lips to hers, itching closer and closer until he was too close to her to back down. He yearned for her touch, her kiss, the gentle movement of his skin against hers. He wet his lips, interfusing his lips to hers. She froze at first, their lips just touching. He fought to move hers with his and she regained her track of thoughts, tangling her lips into his, whimpering slightly as he bit down on her lip ever so gently, their lips grating against the others. She lifted her hand to caress the lock of hair that fell over his forehead, brushing it from his eyes and latching it around her finger, tugging it slightly as he murmured, stopping his lips and resting his forehead against hers. His f orehead f elt sticky and sweaty from crying and he inhaled, hoping she wasn’t bothered. She didn’t appear to be, her eyed closed as she tried to process what had just happened. 

_ They had kissed.  _ And neither of them wanted that moment to cease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully it was a bit of a character development chapter for you all :') hope you enjoyed it!


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